Stowaway
by darthsydious
Summary: Sherlock and Janine are engaged. Molly vows to stay out of the way, even if she has to put aside her feelings. Angsty, but eventual Sherlolly. Also Mycroft/Molly bffs, and wicked awesome Anthea
1. Chapter 1

Scrunching her toes in her shoes, Molly sniffed. She was cold down to the soles of her feet. Having received a text from the elder Holmes, she'd thrown on her coat, leaving Barts. Bosses didn't need to be informed when Mycroft Holmes called you. Excuses had already been made, and time-cards already punched. Knowing Mycroft, she was probably being paid for this visit.

He'd brought her to some quiet location, a small stretch of green hidden by tall hedges, a small bench sat at the end of the lawn. Shoes crunching on the gravel path, they made their way towards the end of the little park. As they walked, Mycroft revealed to her that Sherlock had proposed to Janine. The news had surprised her, but she only slowed in her steps for a moment. Inside, though, Mycroft knew the pathologist was thrown.

"Has he?" she asked softly, her voice oddly pleasant, not quite hiding the hurt she felt.

"I hope you don't believe he'll actually go through with it," Mycroft said quietly. "My brother is not truly-"

"He wouldn't have proposed if he didn't mean it, he never does anything without meaning."

Mycroft refrained from opening his mouth; afraid he'd say something he ought not. "No," he said, wishing she could understand the intent behind his words. "No, he never does, Doctor Hooper."

Reaching the white-washed bench, they sat down.

"I don't know how good a wife she'll be, but I will pray that she'll deserve him," Molly said at last.

Mycroft looked at her, keen eyes scanning her features. "And you?"

Molly glanced up at him. He may not have known it, but his usually cool eyes were soft at that moment.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she hunched her shoulders. "Oh I'll stowaway my feelings," Forcing herself to smile, she finally met his gaze again. "I'm good at it."

"I wish him all imaginable happiness," her voice wavered only a moment. "I won't go to the wedding, but…I hope they are happy, truly. He deserves that."

"One might say the same to you, Doctor Hooper."

"One might," she shrugged. "But we aren't discussing me," she gave a short laugh. "Honestly I- I don't even know why you pulled me out of work to tell me such a thing…I'm…I'm not important to Sherlock, I'm not one of his friends." She stood up then, missing the hurt expression that crossed Mycroft's features. "It isn't as if I'm John or Mary or Inspector Lestrade I-"

By now, she'd begun to cry, and her words died in her mouth as she bowed her head, crying into her scarf.

Through her tear-filled eyes, a white kerchief appeared. Blinking, she looked up to see Mycroft standing near her, regarding her again with those soft eyes. He stood near enough she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Life is hardly ever how we want it, Molly," he said gently. "I did not tell you to hurt your feelings, I told you because you deserve to know, even if he is too much of a coward to tell you to your face."

Wiping her eyes, she was suddenly struck by a realization. "You don't like Janine." She said.

Mycroft did not speak for a moment. He shifted from foot to foot, looking at the gravel and then the manicured lawn. "She is a good sort of woman. Works for an abominable man, but she is not…unlikable."

"You don't like her," Molly repeated. Finally, he turned and met her gaze.

"One would prefer another as my sister in-law, yes," he confessed. "There is one that is vastly superior to Janine Hawkins, one far more suited to the role."

Molly didn't know what to say then. Mycroft didn't do relationships, as far as Molly knew. Mycroft did not form attachments or encourage affection from anyone.

Mycroft suddenly cursed under his breath, tugging off his glove, he dug through his breast-pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Glancing at Molly, he removed two, and placing them both in his mouth, lit them both, then handed her one. She accepted it, wide-eyed that he'd do such a thing (and that she had sort of wished that Sherlock had done such a thing with her).

"I saw an actor do that in an old film once," Mycroft confessed, flicking the end of the cigarette, noting her stare. "I confess I always wanted to try it."

Molly nodded, taking a quick drag from her own light. "I wouldn't think you cared about that sort of thing."

"I never thought I'd get the chance to," Mycroft shrugged. "It was silly."

"No it wasn't," Molly gave a laugh then, genuinely. "It was rather dapper."

"Hmm. Sherlock says I smoke like a beginner."

"You make it quite charming," Molly laughed. "Even if this stuff is going to kill us."

"You don't smoke," Mycroft commented.

She blew out a small smoke-ring. "No, not usually. A pack will stay in my kitchen drawer for a year or more. Once in a very great while." Silence settled between them, quiet and comfortable.

"I'll miss this," she confessed. "Meeting you every now and again."

"Who says we have to stop?" Mycroft asked. "Just because Sherlock is marrying the wrong woman doesn't mean I can't associate with you."

"I never said she was the wrong-"

"She is," Mycroft bit out. "And he's up to something."

"Don't impugn wrong motive," Molly warned.

Mycroft gave her a look. "You are, in fact, aquainted with my brother, are you not?"

"Whether he is or not," Molly brushed ash from her cuff. "It's not for me to say. He's proposed to her and I hope…" she bit her lip, gathering herself. "I wish him only joy and celebration."

"You still regret his choice."

"That doesn't change the fact that I am thankful that I had him in my life…for however brief."

"He won't forget you."

"Won't he?" Molly asked. Mycroft had no answer for her. She dropped the rest of her cigarette, extinguishing it under her shoe and he followed suit.

As they started back towards the high gate at the end of the park, Mycroft offered his arm to her, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"What happens now?" he asked.

Molly was a little struck by how odd it sounded, Mycroft questioning her. Usually it was the other way around.

"Sherlock will marry Janine," she said, putting on a brave face. "And I will go on as I always have."


	2. Chapter 2

Just as Molly said, Sherlock's news did not affect her day-to-day routine. In fact, she did not 'officially' hear of it until John stopped by St. Barts to tell her so, three weeks after Mycroft told her.

"You okay?" John asked, having broken the news to her.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Molly asked, glancing up from weighing a liver. It was easier to put aside her feelings, having known about it.

"Well because you…" John gestured limply, then shifted, uncomfortable. "You _did_ fancy him,"

"I did- do," Molly said. She looked at John steadily. "I do love Sherlock." The admission of her feelings nearly broke her, but something flared up inside her, some iron will not to let John see her cry. She could not take the doctor's pitying gaze any longer. "But my feelings don't matter in this instance. They never have, to Sherlock, and I am used to it. I hope you'll give Sherlock my congratulations, I'm sure you'll see him before I will." She turned her back to him then, busying herself with checking the scale.

"Molly," John began, shocked at her coldness.

"I'm busy, today, John, or else I'd chat. I'm sure Sherlock's got loads of errands for you to run," she said over her shoulder.

She saw less of John after that. Sherlock still made frequent stops to the morgue, still enlisting Molly's help for parts. She heard nothing of wedding plans, noted no particular spring in his step. She did mention it once to him (apparently she liked to torture herself).

"You've set a date then?"

He glanced up from the microscope.

"Hmm?"

"A date. For your wedding?"

"Oh. Yes. Janine is planning all that," he waved his hand. "Stuff."

"Oh."

"What?" he looked up, hearing the confusion in her voice. "Don't brides normally plan the wedding?"

"Yes but for John and Mary you-" she gestured to him. "You were the one who…did everything…I thought for your own you'd be…well…a bit of a bridezilla, or groomzilla at any rate."

"No I…I'm not," he answered, though he was frowning, as if she'd stated something he had not even thought of.

"Well, anyway," she put on her smile that Sherlock had come to recognize as forced. "Let me know if you need anything, you know I'm always here for you."

"Yes," he said, watching her leave. "Yes you are."

 **Months later…Ede and Ravenscroft Tailors**

"I don't see why I have to be here, isn't this something that you and Sherlock should be doing together?" Molly asked, watching as Mycroft was fitted one last time in the morning suit.

"I expect so, but as it was either you come with me for my fitting, or join the bride and Mrs. Watson lingerie shopping, I thought you might prefer the former, dull as it may be."

Molly shrugged, studying the elder Holmes reflection in the mirror. "Thank you," she said, and meant it. While she had yet to have a conversation beyond polite greetings with Janine, Molly still felt her heart drop at the thought of having to spend any sort of extended time with the bride-to-be. The thought of Sherlock being married still made her chest ache, but she was able to hide it better.

"There," Mycroft turned to face her. "I expect this is more than enough fuss for this sham of a wedding."

"Don't say that," Molly got to her feet, straightening the cravat before stepping back. "You look very nice. I'm sure you'll do very well at the wedding; Anthea will look very fetching on your arm."

"Hmm, yes, about that," Mycroft said slowly, fiddling with his cufflinks. "Anthea won't be able to make it, she's going to be out of town at a conference, quite unable to come, leaving me without anyone to fend off the meddling older ladies and their daughters-"

"No," Molly answered immediately. "No, Mycroft, I am not attending this wedding, I told you-"

"He's going to ask you to come," Mycroft interrupted. "I thought my asking might make it easier, sort of a favor to me, and an excuse for you to leave early too. You know my phone is never silent for longer than thirty minutes. Sufficient time to wish them well and be on our way."

"I don't want to go,"

"I know you don't," Mycroft answered her gently. "But it won't do any good to stay away either. Will your not witnessing it make it any less true?"

"It isn't a matter of it being true or not!" Molly burst out. "It's a question of how much I hate myself to watch him go through with it!" After a moment, she gathered herself, mouth still pulling at the corners, wincing as if she were pained.

"You're more a Holmes than you give yourself credit for," Mycroft said, and she opened her bleary eyes, realizing he was quite near her.

"Stop saying that," she insisted. "I'm not a Holmes, I never will be, I don't know why you feel like you must be nice to me, or- or do favors for me when I've done nothing for you."

Mycroft was silent for a long while. "I apologize if my actions have caused you any pain," he said at last. "I'm not very good at showing affection." Finally, he looked up at her. "I've never had a sister, you see, and…it is always a surprise to me how much I should like for you to be _my_ sister."

Molly sniffled, wiping her nose. "Well I don't have to marry your brother to be your sister, you clot."

Mycroft had no response to this, but his cheeks were rosy, and his eyes twinkled.

* * *

Despite Mycroft's high regard and obvious favoritism for Molly, he would brook no refusals when it came to Molly staying behind. Molly _would_ attend the wedding on his arm. He'd even had Anthea take her shopping. It turned out the PA had a rather wicked streak in her, choosing provocatively cut dresses. With an infectious laugh, she'd whip a gown from the rack.

"If you're going to be forced to go, why not go in something that will make them all drop dead?" she asked brightly.

"I don't want to be something I'm not," Molly replied.

"No, but it never hurts to give him a good heaping dose of what he's missing," Anthea said, flicking through a rack.

"He's not missing any- oh I give up- Anthea I am not wearing that." Molly interrupted herself to draw line at a frock that the PA held up.

"Why not?"

"It's slit up to my pelvis, for one,"

"Fine," Anthea huffed. "But with legs like yours, why you don't show them off more, I'll never know."

Molly smiled inwardly. Well, it certainly wouldn't do any harm to look her best at this event. At any rate, the PA was doing her very best to boost her ego to the highest hills.

"You've got to absolutely blow everyone's socks off," Anthea said, Molly jogging to keep up with her long strides. How Anthea managed to walk at such a pace, in those stilettos, in a pencil skirt, Molly would never know.

"I don't want to attend and look vindictive," Molly insisted. "I don't even want to go at all,"

"I know," Anthea slowed. "That's why I asked Mycroft that I be the one to go shopping with you. I want you to go in there with your head held high, showing everyone that you don't need anyone, you stand on your own two feet, Molly Hooper, as you always have. You make it known that your attendance is a favor to Mycroft only, and that if Sherlock Holmes is going to marry the wrong girl, then he's free to do so, but he's going to bloody well know about it without you having to say a word."

"He's…he's not…" Molly answered weakly.

"Don't," Anthea pointed a manicured finger at the pathologist. "Stop lying to yourself. To you, Janine _is_ the wrong girl, and that's okay to say to yourself. That's what you believe,"

Molly was startled by the ferocity of the PA. "It's not right to say that," Molly said, at last wavering.

"It doesn't make it any less true," Anthea replied.

"Every day is a fight," Molly admitted, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, sniffling.

"Yes it is," Anthea squeezed her hand. "It hurts, seeing the one you love, the one you know you ought to be with completely ignore you, or go with someone else. Every day is a fight, so what do we do?"

Molly shook her head in response, unsure. Anthea smiled gently.

"We dress for battle."


	3. Chapter 3

Molly fiddled with her necklace, worrying the chain between her thumb and forefinger. Sitting in the small park Mycroft had brought her to last October, she dug the heels of her satin shoes into the gravel before she finally put her head in her hands, beginning to weep. She hadn't even stayed for the ceremony. In her brand new dress that made her feel quite like a star, in her shoes that made her walk like a super model and make-up that was waterproofed and made her feel as if she were a bloody queen, took one awful look at Sherlock in his morning suit having his photograph taken and she fled. She just couldn't do it. She could not sit quietly by while the man she loved said 'I do' to someone else. Perhaps that made her weak. Perhaps it made her foolish and insipid. Molly knew her limits, and she knew that if she stayed a moment longer in that hall full of smiling faces, she'd scream.

She'd jumped into Mycroft's car and told the chauffer to drive. He obeyed, and off they went through London traffic while she divested herself of the pashmina shawl and cocktail hat. After a while, she asked him to bring her to 'the little park'. He seemed to know what she was talking about and did as she asked, promising to wait for her, despite her insistence that she'd be perfectly fine. What on earth had she been thinking? What on earth ever possessed her to allow Mycroft to take her to the wedding? What made her think that a dress and pair of shoes could ever make her brave?

Tugging at the hem of the cocktail dress, she stared at her bare knees. A gentle breeze blew around her, stirring the perfume she'd applied, her favorite scent. What a waste. Her phone had not stopped buzzing since she'd gotten into the car. Seeing it was Mary calling her this time, she swiped the screen.

"Just leave me alone, all of you!" she shouted into the receiver before hitting the 'end call' button and dumping the phone back into her purse. How could everything be so impossibly wrong? She knew she was being childish, sulking like a petulant child who didn't get her way. She'd no right to dictate who ought to love whom, but it was just so painfully unfair. She didn't know anything could hurt as much as this.

Dusk was already falling, and the small park only had one lamp, by the bench she sat on. At the far end, she heard the gate creak open. In the dimness, she could see polished shoes catch the light.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, I didn't want to stay and make a scene. Sorry if I left you to everyone." She scuffed her shoes through the gravel, arms folded across her middle. "Will you tell me, please," she sniffled. "Is he…was he happy, when they left?" she covered her eyes again, crying. "Tell me at least Sherlock's happy, that will at least make this whole awful night worth it, at least a little, at any rate."

"No,"

She looked up with a start, for the voice was very near to her now, and it was most definitely _not_ Mycroft.

"No he's not happy, not in the slightest."

Sherlock stood over the diminutive pathologist, not certain what was keeping him from taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless in that very moment.

Her mouth hung open, she stared up at him, shocked. "Sherlock what are you – how did- you're missing your wedding."

"No, I'm not," he shook his head. "Actually, I think I've been jilted."

"Oh," her eyes grew sorrowful as she regarded him, ignoring the leap in her chest. "Sherlock I'm so sorry,"

"Don't be," he waved his hand, annoyed at her sentiment. "Janine wrote me a letter. She felt rather uneasy about the whole thing, but was going along with it for appearances sake. Said she wasn't very good with commitment, and would much rather we just be friends."

"Oh." Molly was at a loss for words. "And…and you? Is that why you're upset?"

"No, actually I am relieved," he said. "Elated…really. She's not quite for me." He frowned. "I think I knew that."

"Then why are you upset?" she asked softly. Heart hammering in her chest, she wanted so much to quell the hope that welled up inside her.

"I made a mistake, Molly," Sherlock said, voice low. "I made the mistake in thinking anyone could take your place in my affections. You've always been the only one that mattered most to me. I thought for so long that you really had moved on, that all you wanted was friendship, and I tried to make myself believe that could ever be enough for me. It was so much easier, stowing away how I really felt than admitting it. I hadn't even begun to hope until that day in the lab, when John came to tell you about my engagement."

"You weren't there that day," she answered dumbly.

"I was, I was coming in after him, I stayed behind the door to listen, and then the day you asked me why I was not more involved with my wedding only made me realize just how little I cared to be married to Janine." He shrugged. "You see, when it comes right down to it," he held out his hand to her, helping her to her feet, eyes locked with hers. "I don't want to be with just anyone. I think I have always known that the only person who must marry you, Molly Hooper, is me."

She trembled. This could not possibly be happening. Sherlock Holmes standing before her, dressed in his good wedding suit, confessing his love for her. He'd loved her all this time! And the stupid buggar had not said a single word about it! Molly was too elated to even be upset about that (even if it would have saved them all a good deal of pain).

"You- you shouldn't propose to someone on the same day you got jilted," Molly answered weakly, then mentally berated herself for not kissing him instead.

"I don't care what one should and shouldn't do," he replied, irritated. "I've wasted an entire year not being with you, I'm not going to waste another three months for the sake of everyone's comfort. That's just stupid," he smirked at her. "And you think so too."

Molly laughed, genuinely amused by his short temper at this moment. Only Sherlock Holmes would demand a confession of love in the next breath of beautifully and quite tenderly revealing his own. "Maybe I do," she nodded. "Maybe I'm thrilled that Janine made the choice, and that you happen to agree with it, maybe- maybe I'm just happy because now Mycroft will have the sister he's always wanted."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock looked confused.

"I'll tell you later," she said, before leaning forward and kissing him. Sherlock responded in kind, bringing her flush against him.

"Now what?" she asked, breathless, when they at last parted.

"Seems like a waste of a good evening."

"I am not getting married in that tacky-decorated hall," Molly said, drawing line at that at least.

"No," Sherlock smirked. "It's nothing of us in there, is it?" He slipped his arm around her waist and they slowly made their way back across the park. "I don't think I want nearly as large an affair as that."

Molly hummed in response, leaning her head against him.

He opened the gate for them, and then helped her into the waiting car. Having delivered the address to the driver, they settled against the plush seats, stretching their legs out, Sherlock propped his feet up on the seat opposite, Molly's legs resting on his. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned his head so he could see her properly.

"What is it?"

In the dark, her eyes were shining at him. "You love me."

"I do," he nodded, his smile soft and warm. Ducking his head, he kissed her once, "I do," a second time, "I do." And then a third time, quietly reaffirming his love for her. He'd spent so long hiding his feelings for her, Sherlock found that now that he'd at last admitted to them, he couldn't stop saying it. With Molly curled into his arms, he happily settled in for the forty-five minute drive back to Baker Street, after which he carried Molly up to the flat, and setting her down on the couch, curled up beside her, reveling in the fact that when he woke, he would see her in his arms. He wondered what in heaven's name he'd been thinking of, all that past year, and indeed, the years hence. It did no good, stowing away all his feelings for her. Now, though, he felt as if they'd made a clean sweep of everything, and it was refreshing, knowing there were no more secrets between them. Feelings revealed, nothing stood between them now. She was finally in his arms, and he in hers, exactly where they belonged.


End file.
